


Plot? What (Which) (Whose) Plot?

by smileyfacegauges



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Personal Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Silent Hill 3, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, as a treat, as though it couldn't get any more self indulgent, featuring: Short Harry, featuring: Tall James, go on fetch!!!, i'm fuckin done tinkering wtih this thing, none of these things is just like the other one, this one's a lil more absolutely definitely self indulgent, throws it into the world, which is YET ANOTHER AU that is NOT GOOMT compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileyfacegauges/pseuds/smileyfacegauges
Summary: So.. are you gonna dig up that plot yourself, or are you just gonna write about it?
Relationships: Harry Mason/James Sunderland
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Plot? What (Which) (Whose) Plot?

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and combed his damp hair. “I’ve gotta call my publisher today,” he told a room that happened to also include his husband. “Maggie’s been up my ass about getting back to them. I just fucking hate those phone calls. They make me nervous and I end up talking until they tell me to just get the draft in and hang up. .. in a way, I guess that kinda works in my favor.. but then _Maggie’s_ back on me because _she_ got an earful about my so-called ‘conduct’ and.. ugh.” He dropped his arms soundly to his lap and looked up at the tall blond focused on folding up his flannel sleeves. “But.. what can I say. Well. A lot. Yeah, I can say a lot, actually.”

James straightened his arm; his elbow cracked, and the muscles in his forearm shifted upon its flex. Then he began the same work on the other cuff. Harry eyeballed his exposed skin.

“I’m _trying_ to get the damn thing out. I know I’ve bitched about this before, but I wasn’t _planning_ a sequel. It was _fine_ as a stand-alone. Coming up with an actual full story and lore for this shit is driving me up the wall. Of course it’s gonna take me a long time! Jesus Christ, I’m no Tolkien, but if this dumb thing takes off _again,_ then I better have enough stuff to go off of just in case, y’know? Ugh. Fuck me. This better make ‘em happy.”

He watched James repeat himself: stretch, crack, flex. The bigger man then rotated his shoulders, shook himself out, and sorted out any unsightly wrinkles in his newly-rolled sleeves; and finally looked at Harry.

“Yeah.”

Harry darted his eyes between those lewdly-presented forearms. James’s choice to neatly fold up his cuffs felt like a personal attack. The loose, lazy roll he usually went for was, of course, still attractive; but there was really something spine-tingling (or nethers-tingling, if he had to be truthful) about precision. He peered up at his lover’s face. “That looks nice.”

James shrugged, casually making fists and spreading his fingers out a few times. It looked nonchalant, tensing his forearms like that, but they both knew exactly what he was doing, thus confirming Harry’s suspicions. “Thanks.” He glanced at his chatterbox partner for his light scoff. Idly scratching at his throat, he studied Harry for a solid moment, then dropped his hand. Looking down, mild embarrassment skulked over his features as he (tried to) casually brush invisible dirt off his jeans.

Catering to Harry’s tastes was fun, most of the time. James enjoyed making him happy and all in a tizzy, and it felt awesome to get a confidence boost like that. But his awkwardness at this time came from a place that was a work in constant progress. Because of that, these little acts always counted as a point on his playing board.

Yet for nearly twenty minutes he’d been silently suffering since Harry had gotten out of the shower. That man was a curse in himself, so he’d come to intimately know over the course of three years. A shy piece of him hoped that Harry didn’t notice - and the other, more primal piece, was begging him to.

When he looked up, he found Harry leaning back on his hands; his knees spread; his ankles loosely crossed at the bed frame; a wicked little smirk taunting him on his lips, and a knowing, beckoning gleam in his eye.

So Harry _did_ notice. It skipped James’s heart, and blew fire on flames already dancing. The hair on his arms raised in response to prickles of anticipation while they regarded one another.

James nervously balled up his fists when those dark eyes dropped to his crotch, then lifted to his face.

“Are you hard, honey?”

James drew a slow breath through his nose. Instead of a verbal answer, he meandered to where he sat on the bed, looking down at him. For a pause, all Harry did was smirk back, but hooked his finger in the unoccupied belt loop, tugging the larger man closer to stand between his legs. James obeyed, and ran his hand over Harry’s pretty silver-streaked hair while his fly unzipped. An audible swallow could be heard while Harry groped him through his boxer briefs’ pocket, and freed his cock from confinement.

Harry practically purred as he stroked his erection and James deeply sighed. He tilted his head back, groaning in the pleasure of his partner’s deft hand, then took his eyes downwards at the sensation of a warm, slick tongue worshipping his shaft. James pet the author’s hair, gazing approvingly at this oft-seen sight.

James hummed low in his throat as his dick was sucked into Harry’s mouth. Both hands smoothed over his dark hair to cup his head, lazily controlling his lover to match the tempo of his thrusts. Harry held to James’s thighs, gladly rescinding his wants as he tended to his needs. He groaned appreciatively around his meat, wagging his tongue on the underside of his shaft and slurping noisily as James fucked his mouth.

Tipping his head from shoulder to shoulder, James drew and spent a gratified breath, then hazily watched his glistening dick be devoured by someone who took thrill and pride at the task. Passing his thumbs over pointed ears and shiny bands of grey hair flanking both sides of his head, he licked his lower lip, thudding his hips harder into Harry’s face, and smiling at the garbled moans and small chokes he earned. In fact, it was so welcomed that Harry tugged on his legs, spurring James into piloting his husband’s head harder to meet his thrusts, growling low and animalistic.

When Harry chanced a glimpse up at him beneath his drawn and raised brows, looking a beggar in the gutter for more, James’s lip curled a faint snarl. He bucked his hips, forcing Harry to break eye contact, prompting tears to collect through eyes squeezed shut. One escaped down his reddened cheek from the jerk of James’s hips and partially undone jeans smacking on his face, hurting his beaky nose, those strong pale hands forcefully bobbing his head on his dick to make him choke and whine - yet he sucked harder.

Harry fucking _loved_ when James treated him like a personal sex toy.

James released a sharp breath. Torn between wanting to ride this out until he shot his load down his throat and saving it for a better time, James grit his teeth and took out that frustration on Harry’s mouth.

He finally ripped his husband’s head off his cock and shoved him back. Harry gasped, surprised and dazed from a wild face fuck spontaneously over. The patriarch was still coming to his senses when James took him by the front of his sweater, hauled him up, and threw his body down on the middle of the bed.

It knocked the air out of him for the second time in as many heartbeats. Harry was left winded and dully aware of his pants being undone, then his lower half stripped naked. A little thought behind all the muddle was grateful he hadn’t donned his socks and shoes yet, and it along with anything else potentially important got dashed away in the next instant.

Harry’s legs were lifted, thrown apart, then taken into strong arms and hands that clutched his thick thighs. He had a small window to reorient himself, wiping dry the few tears that’d streaked his skin. When next he opened his eyes, he caught the tail end of such a tall, pretty young man bowing his head between his open legs.

Suddenly, Harry filled the room with loud, throaty moans as James’s starving tongue demandingly parted his labia. His hands dove into blond hair, straining his voice while James slowly dragged his tongue up his pussy and under his enlarged, sensitive clit. Arching his back, Harry praised James’s talents and enthusiasm through near-incoherent expletives and racing breaths.

He knew everything Harry loved and wanted. James slithered his tongue and lapped through the valleys of his trimmed, hairy vulva, rolled it around his little dick, languidly licked its underside and parted the glans. Harry’s thick fingers tangled themselves into his hair, unnecessarily using it as reins to keep him stationary as he set his feet on James’s broad shoulders. The former soldier pulled a long, deep breath in preparation; he knew what was coming next.

Harry began to do what was done unto him: fucking James’s face.

And James _loved_ drowning in his pussy.

So much, that he simply kept his mouth open and knowledgable tongue at work as Harry ground his pussy, slick with saliva and arousal’s natural lubrication, from his lover’s chin to the tip of his nose, where his erect clit so pleasurably bumped. James caught his labia in his lips and noisily suckled, then popped them from his mouth. He soon wanted his control back, though, and moved his hands to Harry’s soft sides to order him flat to the bed - or try to. Rounding his back, he pressed his lips to Harry’s dick and toyed his tongue around it, sucking and licking as one would do with a full sized.

The chubby body he worshipped and pleasured jolted once, twice, then three and four times when he swiped his tongue across the deep pink head. To Harry it was a thing of exposed nerves. He swore and moaned, simultaneously writhing his hips on his face and trying to suffocate James in it - which would be as sinful as heaven could be, and that thought kept (and got) him so goddamn hard. James dug his fingers into his lover’s fat with desire and greedily molested whatever he could reach. Harry grabbed his thin wrists, not to stop him, because then he covered his hands under his palms and guided, encouraged, his lust.

As much as James would’ve liked to (and had before) spend his morning rendering his jaw useless for the rest of the day in eating pussy, he had other things on his mind. Sucking his vagina’s floppy lips to a pull, he released them with a smack of his mouth and straightened his spine. He panted hard down at his half clothed, lewdly splayed husband and growled. James hooked his arms around his thighs, yanked Harry to the edge of the bed, and sacrificed one arm to enclose the base of his dick in two fingers.

Rubbing his cock up and down his drenched pussy elicited an unhinged moan from his favorite conquest. He himself clamped his jaw, heavy breathing rushing through his nose describing his pleasure. James lifted the head of Harry’s thick clit with his own dick head, spreading the split glans, and clutched his leg tight to his body as the author slightly spasmed with each hit.

He soaked in the endless expletives while he teased them both. His cock was begging for the torment to end but James was cruel. Harry’s loose heel tried to find something to brace on as he ground his pussy on James’s warm, hard shaft - but his husband knew what he was really trying to do. With every lift of his hips and every tantalizing jut of his own, Harry attempted to time it in such a way that perhaps he’d catch his cock inside him. Yet as it was, James was a mean son of a bitch (to them both) and positioned his hips far enough away from Harry’s wiles and still puppet his cock head right at the thin of his hole.

Harry wrung the blanket underneath, panting, his face contorted in torturous need. His demanding wriggling began to wane, relaxing his body for James to rub over his hole in slow circles. Moans weakened into short beats, filthy words becoming airy on his tongue, and he tried to spread his legs as far as they would go. Of course, James basked in the sight and the know of how easily he could manipulate Harry into submission. It was a power trip he always eagerly looked forward to.

Deciding that was enough to earn them a treat, he slowly breached the glans into Harry’s wet hole. The barest amount of penetration set Harry off, loudly moaning again - then whining when he retreated. It became a rinse and repeat at every little push that became just a scant deeper each time. When James left him the last time, he rapidly flicked the spongy head over his slippery vagina then slid up flush between his labia to languidly hump on his pussy and clit.

Poor Harry rolled up his hips and strained to widen thighs that were already at their limit. James bit his lip; Harry looked disheveled and downright debauched. His freshly combed and neat hair was now tragically askew from its usual slicked styling; desperation and need contorted his aged face; his navy sweater bunched high on his abdomen; the scattered hourglass hair pattern exposed on his overweight belly; how his hands took his frustrations out on their nice clean duvet; how his own cock sat perfectly, slick with his lubrication, on a plump pussy smeared with its own readiness; and of course, his meaty legs open like a cock-starved slut.

James had enough. He withdrew his hips, positioned himself the barest tick within his hole, and smoothly sank into Harry’s warm, wet cunt ‘til their bodies were truly one, and he finally allowed his deep voice to join Harry in moans.

With his arm now free to do as he willed, James gathered up the loose leg stranded in the air and supported the weight of both in his arms. This allowed Harry to relax more and further put James in control, who wasted no time in beginning to shallowly fuck him.

“Oh— fuck—! Oh, _fuck,_ James,” Harry whined high on each hard jut of his hips. “Fuck! **_God_** _, yes!_ Yes, yes,” he whispered, throwing his head to the side and furrowing his brow low over his closed eyes. His thrusts were clipped, hardly leaving him, and that sort exacerbated some delicious sensitivity for him where his hole stretched. They were appreciated but short-lived as James gradually increased the length in which he withdrew to fuck harder on the downstroke, over and over until just the head of his cock was left inside him before he filled him up again.

Harry wrung the blanket in his fists, flexing his biceps hard, fruitlessly trying to pull the fabric towards his shoulders. In the short mount of time that James has been inside him he’d gotten even _wetter,_ accompanying the quickened pace of James’s full-length thrusts with messy-sounding sloshes.

It drove James **wild.**

It was _insane_ how wet he was. His cock glided totally uninhibited in and out of his cunt, splattered his plump, hairy vulva and glistened on his own buzzed pubes and skin. James had his eyes trained on the sight of his dick coated in vaginal arousal pumping in and out of his husband - and the way his girth spread his pussy like curtains. Harry’s sexually-stirred, stout clit was as erect as it could get and pointing at him. Overwhelmed by his cravings, James grit his teeth and bucked harder, faster; which made the slapping connect of their bodies louder, and thus Harry’s erotic moans and curses staccato.

Harry flailed his hands out of the blanket and tried to reach underneath his supported thighs for James’s jeans. If he could snag a fold he couldn’t hold on for long, but James knew what he wanted. He mercifully paused for a simple second for Harry to latch onto the denim and when he did, the older man held firmly while he stared agape at the ceiling.

Hearing James grunt like an animal, Harry’s eyes rolled back into his head and fluttered closed. He relished every goddamn sound he made. Those noises came most often from his throat - gruff, raw, deep, _carnal_ \- sent the author right into a lust-fueled tizzy. God forbid James ever _say_ anything, however; or worse than that, say anything _filthy._ Already his pussy was so ridiculously wet that James had slipped right out, and he was lucky it wasn’t drastic enough to not immediately save the pace.

Another one of his husband’s low growls made Harry’s reply crackled and weak. “Oh, baby,” he uttered, trying to look over his pudgy belly and between his legs at James’s fucking. “Oh yeah, honey, yeah, g— god, you feel so good! Oh _god,_ yeah, fuck me! Fuck my pussy, baby, fuck my pussy with that _fat_ fucking _cock_ —“

“Your pussy’s so fucking tight,” hissed dirty words by the most fervid voice Harry knew. From how his impassioned hips were pounding him, he jarred a wobbling moan from Harry’s throat, and hard pull on his jeans.

“Babe! Oh _fuck—_ “

“You get so fucking wet for me,” continued that treasured voice as his thrusts slowed to deliberate, long, slow strokes. James pushed in at a speed so sluggish that Harry felt taunted, for the drawback was smooth and quick, but the thrust deep and dragging. He mewled for James, rounding his back so his shoulders lifted off the bed and once again, tried to force his legs further apart.

“J-james.. oh **fuck,** baby..”

The tall, pale man shuddered his breath and rolled his hips on that wet cunt, his dick fully encased in his partner’s stretched hole. “Mmmhh..” he praised Harry’s decision to prop himself up on his elbows - the reclined curl made his body plusher and tighter. “God, Harry.. that’s good.. you like that cock, darling? Hm? That’s what you like?”

“Oh, **_god_** , yes! You’re so fucking thick, holy _shit_ you fill up my pussy so good..”

James lowered his handsome green eyes to Harry’s rapacious gaze fixed up at him. He licked and bit his lower lip, scanning his lover’s only clothes all wrinkled on Harry’s chest and biceps. As James studied his body he returned to the shallow, pointed thrusts he’d started with. Harry watched James admire the bulges and creases his body made in this slouched pose, and saw that he truly aroused him.

Being leered at like he were a personal fucktoy turned him on, but didn’t compare to how James’s mere existence made him so goddamn horny he sometimes could hardly stand it. He was wearing that fucking green flannel that fit him comfortably snug to biceps developed by hard labor. The folds he’d made to above his elbows were neat and wide, exhibiting the muscles in his forearms under long veins that ran to his bony, rugged hands (and James _knew_ it was like kryptonite to him, the bastard) and a dark navy shirt beneath it that was now stained a darker, shiny patch right in the middle of the hem that were the fault of his messy pussy.

Harry tucked his stomach in, whining, trying to watch James’s short thrusts over his erect clit and coarse hair. He then looked beseechingly up at his sweetheart’s pallid, angular face - his heart skipping several beats of excitable devotion - and parted his lips to speak.

He didn’t get to.

“Your body’s so fucking tight,” praised his rasped whisper; his eyes dominated Harry’s stare. “N’I can still taste your pussy..” He smirked when Harry feebly moaned. “.. and it tastes _so_ good.”

“James..”

“Yeah, honey?” He picked up his speed, shifting his hands to cup Harry’s ass and lift him a bit off the mattress. Selfishly holding his body directly at level with his hips to drive his dick straight in every time, the room once again filled with the snap and slap of flesh on flesh, the bed frame and Harry’s body rocking from the intensity. “What?” James breathlessly asked again. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“O-oo-ooohh-hh, James—“

 _“What?_ What is it?”

“James, fuck me! Gimme that good _fucking_ cock!”

Harder. Harry’s voice rose in pitch, his feet bounced in the air and legs still as wide as they would go as he was ruthlessly pounded. “Oh, **_fuck!”_**

“Your pussy’s so fucking good,” commended James’s harsh murmur. The more he spoke, the more his filth began to sound like a threat. “You’ve got the **best** **_fucking_** pussy, baby - I could fuck you all day..”

“J-james..”

“And I think I _am_ gonna fuck you all day..”

“Babe—“

“I’m gonna suck your dick and eat your pussy and then fuck the living _hell_ out of you—“

“B-ba—“

“And you’re gonna suck _my_ dick clean— you’re gonna suck it clean and swallow my cum, and get me hard all over agai—“

**“AH, _FUCK!”_**

That was it. Harry’s body tried to curl in on itself, his spread knees jerking back towards his shoulders, his core tensing hard and the rest of him trembling as he hit climax. James simply watched with prideful, smug glee. He fucked him faster yet, reveling in the way Harry’s pussy pulsed around his shaft and gushed his orgasm. Howls of expletives constantly cut off by panting were near deafening in this medium-sized room and yet, the sodden smacking of their fucking could not be overpowered. James stared hungrily as Harry’s cunt gushed and splattered his cum on his inner thighs, sticking to his bush of hair and soaked his lover’s navy shirt.

Harry came so _hard_ and James was nowhere near done. He retreated from his husband’s body and quickly, but gently set him back down on the mattress. Harry’s legs felt like jelly and his breath shivered; that was clearly intense for him, and hadn’t finished riding the unruly waves. Unfortunately for him, the only time he had to recover was in the being laid down, and then rolled over on his belly. He trudged up onto his elbows, staring dazedly at the wall as he was given a few more meager seconds of rest while James manhandled his body into the preferred position.

Harry’s inhale popped when his asscheeks were pulled apart, then his hips grabbed to re-situate him further on the bed, and cheeks parted again. The brush of James’s spongy cock head on his post-climax, sensitive pussy made him jolt, but he arched his back and hiked his ass up welcomingly for James as he slid right back into his hole.

“Oh, **god** yes, baby,” the older man slurred, shuffling his stance a little wider and rising himself up on the balls of his feet. He kept his back arched for James, who held his split, rounded ass cheeks, cupping them, and pushing up to force his hips angled higher - but also change the sensation for both of them. James knew how to manipulate his body, and opened up his cunt just right. Harry was pinned down to the edge of the bed for James’s needs; he grinned hazy and unfocused at the wall, thinking what a perfect place this was to be.

James was rutting his pussy like he was in heat. “Yeah, that’s it, honey,” Harry grumbled as low as his voice went. Sadly, he found whispering to be a bit of an obstacle since his voice dropped, but James didn’t seem to mind it. Rather, he liked it, he’d told him with a fair amount of embarrassment, for it sounded sensuous, gravelly, and masculine. That man was ridiculously sweet when he felt like it.

“Fuckin’—mgh! _hammer_ my pussy.. fuck.. fuck, that’s so good.. oh, god, your cock is so **_fucking_** good, baby, oh **god** your _cock_ is so _fucking_ **_good_**!”

Having to shuffle his legs apart and bend his knees a bit to lean over him, James shoved his dick deep in Harry’s addictive body and ground forcefully on his ass. He wriggled a hand between their thighs, nudging Harry’s hamstring until he lifted his leg to the side for him; it was taken after a bit of a shuffle of his own, then it was scooped up and plopped on the bed. It wasn’t rocket science to figure out what he wanted and these two were very familiar with each other, so it took mere seconds to get the positioning James was looking for; and when they got it, he reset his pace anew.

That was _perfect._ Harry moaned for James; elevated leg, James’s hands planted on his back not only to stabilize but press him forward, and bed height allowed him to present his ass quite immodestly to him on the edge of the bed. The new angle meant that his cock plunged fantastically deep into his cunt, and the near middle-aged man brokenly moaned again as his clit found friction on their duvet.

James folded over him. Arms shoved themselves not only underneath his pudgy husband but up under his sweater. Harry buckled into his younger lover’s arms when James gathered him up, filling his hands with his soft, hairy breasts. He deflated with a satisfied sigh into his groping and pinching, and mashed his face into the cream-colored, heavy fabric while James arched on his back.

Oh, something about that thrust hit a good place. An abrupt gasp preceded a strained noise floating past Harry’s ear, and which he chased with breathy grunts of praise when his already wet humping turned sloppy; his lover suddenly came again. Harry’s pussy felt like goddamn heaven’s torture chambers pulsing so nicely on his shaft, and moaned throatily in its wake.

“Babe.. oh, fuck.. ohfuck, ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck _babe_ ,” Harry unintelligibly rambled, “oh god I’m cumming.. oh shit, oh _fuck_ you’re making me cum so _fucking_ much..!”

James slowed down, humming into the shoulder clothed in soft polyester as he began idly fondling his soft breasts, and rolling the hardened, pert nipples he pinched. Lingering, firm kisses dotted Harry’s back, his shoulder, and his cheek when his head turned for him.

“Jame— _James_ ,” he breathed, practically beautifully numb with sexual euphoria that didn’t stop him from bumping back to meet his hips, his awkward legs be damned. “Honey.. oh.. oh, Jay.. my love..”

His cock was nearly at sensitivity peak. Hearing his husband use one of the two _very_ personal nicknames that _any_ other person was **_strictly_** forbidden from uttering, right then, sent a molten rush through his dick.

And his dick wasn’t the only one getting a rush. Alight with nerves, Harry’s sizable T-dick ground and rubbed on the blanket throughout his plowing. It was uncomfortably overstimulated and also was the catalyst for his latest orgasm; it kept his pussy wet and constantly impatient for more dick. But his sweetheart lay his body on him, one arm still wrapped around his chest and teasing his breast and his breath hot on the back of his head. The other, now, held his draped leg in place; god, it opened him up in all the right ways.

Harry felt drunk on their fucking. “Jay, _baby,”_ he crackled again, thrusting his hand over his shoulder in an effort to grab, even pet, his blond hair. “Y-yes.. yes, yes, god that’ssofucking ** _good_..”**

James hugged his fatter body tighter to him. He pumped him at a steady tempo, tucking his head on Harry’s shoulder for his touch. With his thick fingers sifting into his hair, James emitted a sound that could have easily been a cougar’s purr and pulsed another strong squeeze around his chest.

“Mmmmmf.. hi, baby..”

“Hi,” returned a whooshing breath. “Ohhh fuck, James.. I—“ he grunted, interrupted by a sharp thrust, “I love you..”

“I love you too, Harry,” he mumbled into his sweater, smiling at his corresponding, dripping moan. “You feel fucking amazing..”

“Jay..”

“I love you.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” James fiercely repeated, thrusting into him with growing vigor; so much, that he was forcing Harry further onto the bed. Regrettably, he had to slide out of him as well as unhand him for the desperate seconds it took to actually unbutton his jeans, shove them and his underwear down for his feet to kick off. Groaning that wild, predatory sound that gave Harry a high he’d chase all day, James took his husband by the waist, dragging him back, then hoisted his chubby, heavy frame fully onto the bed.

For the third time, Harry forgot his lungs. He recovered in seconds, and dazedly hummed when James’s weight bowed and bounced the mattress under him as he climbed up to join him.

“I love you so fucking much, Harry,” James swore as he roughly maneuvered Harry to the middle, them both on their knees, and Harry’s legs obediently splayed wide.

“Jay,” came breathlessly from his lips. “Jay, honey, oh god I love you, I love you so fucking much—“

“I love you,” he growled moments before he mounted his husband and rutted back into him so hard that the clap of his hips against his ass resounded in their bedroom. Harry tucked his head between his shoulders, reaching over one shoulder and pleadingly clawing for James’s hair. James curled himself on Harry’s back, wrapping his arms around him, and of course let him comb and grab his hair; he wouldn’t deny him of even the littlest of things.

But also the littlest things were also what punched James right through the heart, no matter how lecherous, shameless, or gluttonous for each other they were - and it was when Harry clasped his other hand over his own.

It was so simple, and it meant so much.

“James, James honey you’re gonna make me cum again, oh fuck oh _fuck_ oh **_fuck!_ **Baby, I’m fucking cum _again_ and I _just_ fucking came—“

“Then do it,” snarled the order. “Do it, cum for me, Harry; fucking cum all over my dick; lemme feel you cum, your pussy feels so fucking _good_ when you cum on my cock.. You always cum so much for me—“

“Oh fuck, _James—!”_

“Cum for— that’s it,” he grumbled approvingly. “Yeah.. that’s.. mmmmmmmhh.. oh, that’s it,” James sighed, relaxing the pace as Harry’s cunt closed and pushed on his cock in its third orgasm. He merely rocked on and in him, snug and deep in his vagina that was wetter and noisier as he came. Harry swore up and down that he wasn’t a squirter, that he just happened to cum like Niagara Falls, but every time he came, James was less and less convinced. But oh, he wasn’t complaining at all. Or ever would.

The ego boost just made him harder.

“That’s it.. cum for me.. cum aaaallll over my dick, Harry.. mmmmhh.. yeah, that’s good..”

“Jay, fuck—! God, fuck, I’m still cumming,” Harry panted. “.. fuck, fuck.. yes, James.. ohhh, fuuuuck, your cock’s so fucking good, baby..! _so_ fucking good.. I can’t stop fucking cumming, James, oh fuck, _shit_.. ” His voice weakened, stumbling over its own words and sounds. James reset the pace, pumping his hips smooth and deliberate. The shift would give a more fragile man a broken neck.

“Mm.. oh, James.. fuck me nice and slow like that..”

“I am, baby,” he soothed. “I’ll fuck you any way you want..”

“Just like that,” he breathed, still petting his hair into nothing but a huge mess. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking good..”

“Mm. I know.” The next thing Harry knew was that he was on his side and that he felt terribly sore - and empty. James’s impulsive repositioning meant that his husband had slipped out of him, though that wasn’t going to stay a fact for long. But his body ached, namely his legs and what was between him, and Harry took the opportunity to stretch his limbs long to the tune of his crackling knees. James wriggled behind him, snaking his arm under his armpit and cuddling his warm body in flush against his chest.

Harry tipped back his head, looking adoringly up at James over his shoulder. The smile he gave was received the same, and held on their features for the time it took to sort themselves out.

Harry started to draw up his leg when a gentle press of James’s hand said otherwise. So they closed, and the author curiously studied his spouse over his shoulder as his cool hand lifted his asscheek and prodded his dick at his thighs. Now Harry understood what was happening. As it was, the comfortable weight he’d put on did hinder some otherwise easy tricks. He took it upon himself to tilt his hip back and up, parting his thighs just enough for James to slip his dick between them, and snug up against his drenched, fucked vagina.

James collected Harry in his arms and began to slothfully thrust. Harry twisted towards him and cradled his unforgettable pale face in his palm, smiling so tender. Gently drawing his fingers down from temple to jaw, he beckoned his love in closer as he leaned up for him.

The kiss they shared set off an army’s worth of fireworks in the greying man’s heart. He couldn’t help smiling on his lips and happily tensed at the touch of another smile’s reply. Harry sank into his husband’s arms, caressing his sturdy jaw and gorgeous structure, and taking James’s hand groping his chest to hold, and to link their fingers together.

“I love you, honey,” Harry murmured on his sweetheart’s lips. “You’re beautiful.”

A kiss; a second; a third; fourth. They passed slow and reverent and were returned just as given. James’s kisses were better than words. He spoke the loudest through his hands and his kisses, and Harry understood him perfectly. It was the language James knew best; and oh, how his husband loved to hear him speak.

Harry lifted his chin to nuzzle his arched nose to James’s attractive straight and sloped. His face was then cupped in his large pale hand and engaged him in a deeper kiss, one that made Harry whine with his soul’s need for James, and pressed back yearningly on his slender frame.

James gave him relentless worship through his lips; the way he clasped their hands to Harry’s plush body; and the stroke of his cheek that clearly said, ‘I love you.’ His hand then slipped away, ghosting over Harry’s neck, tracing down his side, the rounded, fatty creases, and over the hill of his thigh. It paused there, rubbing his warm skin as his rolling hips pleasured them between those legs.

The author groaned when the thrusts got more insistent and James’s lips found his neck. Harry rocked back on him and brushed his lover’s hair. “I love you, baby.”

Hearing Harry’s pathetic groan when he squeezed their locked hands on his chest, James cuddled him as close, and as tight as he could. He softly kissed his neck; the air around them had changed. Any and all salacious tones had trickled away. James brought his hand up from his thigh and instead, closed his arm around Harry. Harry was held safe in his arms; and when he hugged him, took his hand; when Harry absently played with his hair while they watched a movie, James’s head on his lap; when they looked a horrible mess the first thing in the morning; James, too, felt safe with him.

They had chemistry, these two men who met in the worst and oddest of ways. There was a heartache they shared, a terrible feeling to have when their beloved has done nothing to warrant it. Nothing, but commit a crime that’d send them to death.

James spoke volumes through his lips and hands, and Harry couldn’t ever put him, his favorite book, down.

It tore Harry apart to miss a man that was already holding him, ghosting kisses on his neck, fingers entwined; but he’d been missing him since the first day he knew what love was. He missed James so goddamn much every minute of every day: that was the crime committed, and that kind of love would send him to his grave.

And it’d already almost did.

Soon, there was a change in position. James removed himself to nudge his partner to lie lengthwise on the bed. He crawled between spread, expectant legs, and lowered himself to kiss the man he loved just as he was loved, and smoothly drove his cock back where it craved. Harry wrapped his arms around his husband’s neck and pulled back his knees, his kisses hot and desperately adoring, reverent, pleading with a man to believe how devoted he was to him.

James gathered Harry up in his arms once more, and made love to him.

Harry clutched his young husband and kissed his neck, then his cheek with tenderness that lived in their everyday life, yet right then felt like the first time he’d expressed it; in fact, their lovemaking felt like the first time, too. The care, and the devastatingly tenacious love that swathed them in its ribbons of time, patience, growth, and trust, had become a power that could burst them apart. Stroking, combing, weakly curling his fingers into perfectly blond hair, Harry whimpered on his beloved’s skin and pressed kisses that lingered as though they were their last.

“James, I love you,” he whispered - a true whisper - fierce and trembling behind his ear. “I love you. You make me so happy, baby. You’re my everything, you’re my heart, you’re my favorite part of waking up in the morning and— ah— ah, **_James.._** _”_

James embraced him so tenderly, capturing his lips for kisses adoring and ardent. “I love you, sugar..” (Harry’s voice in his throat sounded like a feverish prayer; ‘sugar’ was as precious as anything imaginable, for it was so rare to hear.) “.. you’re everything I want,” he slurred on his lips, too stubborn to give up on kissing him just so he could talk. “Perfect.. I love you.. I love, and I _love_ how I turn you on.. you came so _much_ for me, sweetheart..”

“Three times,” he gasped, then stole his kisses. “You make me cum so easily, baby.. hhgh— **_god!_** Oh god, James, oh— _fuck..!”_ Harry strained, twisting James’s plaid, his chest shuddering. “J-jay— oh, fuck, baby.. oh god, _James_ I love you, honey, I love you so **_fucking_** much..”

Swallowing hard, James shifted his arms higher beneath his lover’s shoulders and cradled his head in both hands. He planted hungry kisses to his cheek and his neck, burying his face into the crook of neck and shoulder, hotter with the sweater that clothed him, and how Harry’s arms embraced him. Faster now, more ardently, more needly, desperate, loving, begging, making love even though he ruthlessly pounded him.

Harry clutched James to him, twisting his shirt on his back, comfortingly stroking his head tucked by his, and closed his eyes. Their lovemaking made him inebriated. His head swam with how effortlessly their bodies fit together as one. He stared up at the ceiling past James’s shoulder, hardly even seeing it, awash in the paradise that visited him whenever they were as close as they’d ever get - which was often.

Their lovemaking was drawing James, at last, to his peak. He’d held out impressively long; this was pattern for him, along with some other fine perks of how he performed in bed (or around the house, or in the car) that to Harry, matched his needs to a T. Perhaps Harry was well within his right to be smug and puffed up about coxing James out of his shell in many more ways than one; and James could agree with that. It just so happened that it was all intentional, too.

With her, he wasn’t like this. Harry was different. Of _course_ they were very different people and his feelings struggled to find similarities that overlapped. Really, James preferred it that way, for not separating a wife from a husband from any comparison wouldn’t be fair to anyone in question. But Harry seemed so proud of himself for his accomplishments. It was cute. So James let him take all the credit, and kept it to himself how his stamina was only so herculean because he was greedy, and wanted their passionate trysts to last.

But Harry did, too. That man was just as greedy for his other half and tried to pull every trick in the book to keep him going as long as he could. His stamina also came from a natural place within him, yet its knob turned beyond max on purpose so he could feel James, hold him, kiss and promise him amongst the eroticism that he loved him.

James was so unlike her. He was supposed to be; Harry couldn’t compare a wife to a husband because it wouldn’t be fair to anyone in question. What he thought overlapped actually did not. Harry was glad for it. No person could be the same, and yet, it oftentimes (even back _there)_ felt like he and James knew too much about each other in ways they’d never told another soul, or didn’t even see in themselves until the other said, or did, something.

How strange it is to know someone before they’re met.

Thank _god_ Harry’d specifically chosen a house in a neighborhood that was more private and spaced from others around them. It meant that all the noise they (Harry) made fucking would never worry or be heard by neighbors. As the impending climax rocketed higher, the author and his vulgarities, praises, declarations of love, and blissful ecstasy was so goddamn loud that his throat would be sore the rest of the day. James always pushed past the painful beat in his eardrums to soak in Harry’s tributes in his words, and in his body.

Holding his husband in a hug that could break bones, James slammed his hips on him, forcing Harry to gasp, weaken, and jolt as his dick was bullied by his lover’s brutish gluttony. Dulled fingernails made red welts on the back of a neck pale. James plunged his cock into Harry’s outstanding fourth, gushing orgasm, listening to Harry’s rapturous cries, bearhugging his trembling body worked hard past its comforts, and refused to stop.

Then Harry’s fingers tangled his hair taut, and his meaty legs locked their ankles at base of his spine and begged, _begged_ for him to cum. That was the last straw for James. His hips lunged once more, pressing against Harry’s swollen pussy so tight that it seemed he was trying, for the umpteenth time, to get any closer than he already was. James spluttered breaths that he didn’t know he was holding; strained, nearly suffocating in his neck, shoulder, sweater, and blanket. Harry squeezed his legs tighter around his waist to keep him deep within him as James’s orgasm blew its load inside his cunt.

Harry’s limbs held fast to James as his body rocked over his, desperate to reach that impossible closeness. He could feel his cock pulse inside him, and smiled his intoxicated pride. James nearly crushed the other man to his body, shallowly fucking every last milky, thick rope of a pent-up orgasm right into where it belonged.

“That’s it, baby,” Harry murmured, nuzzling his nose into his hair. “Cum deep in my pussy.. mmhh.. _god,_ your cock’s so fucking thick. N’you cum so _much_.. oh.. fuck, yeah.. fill me up, honey.. I fucking **_need_** it..”

James sluggishly shifted his arms beneath Harry. Though he was hot and breathing was more difficult than it ought to be, he tucked his face to Harry’s neck and head, humming his content. Though he’d all but spent all his cock had, he continued to gently thudded those short thrusts inside him, stuffing his cum into his pussy as he was told (and wanted) to, bringing out those sweet little noises, and his favorite three words in the world.

“I love you,” whispered his favorite voice, dripping in the raw suffering of its meaning and truth, by his ear. “I love you, Jay.”

He gave him a squeeze, then lifted his sweaty head from its small cavern, and gazed down over his cheekbones at a man who displayed excitement, adoration, pride, and a big, warm smile on his face the moment he saw him. James searched aging features, grey hair replacing dark brown, eyes just as dark and destructively honest. Harry was so easily read it was almost embarrassing.

And what he saw in this open book brought a soft smile to his lips (which prompted the other to beam into a grin; it was like this every time): that Harry was utterly stupid for him. He’d do anything - and has, really - for James. Harry was in love. There were a million, then a billion more, ways to read this man. James never thought himself much of a reader; didn’t really care for books in general. This one, though. he couldn’t put down the moment he picked it up.

What a fucking asshole his husband is.

“I love you too, Harry,” replied the throaty depths of the voice Harry cherished so dearly. They kissed and kissed, then warred a playful little battle. It took them minutes to recuperate, James enduring Harry’s teasing, Harry putting up with James’s sharp, deadpan wit.

“Get off me,” Harry pushed on his shoulders at last. “You’re a bother and distraction. I got shit to do today.”

“Whatever.”

“Nyeh, _‘whatever,’”_ he mocked as James retreated onto his knees. That’s when he realized how sore his legs were and complained quite a bit about it. James watched him scoop up his spread legs and achingly roll to his side to give them a rest, and closed, for once. _“Ow,_ babe..”

“Old man,” he retorted, climbing off the bed and stretching his body long. Four cracks came from four joints, then a wince, and a couple swiveling twists for his back. Harry eyeballed the routine.

“Little shit.”

“I’m going to work,” James announced, leaving the room to clean himself up in the attached master bath.

“How long are you working?” Harry called to him. He scrunched his face, slowly extending his legs and getting a good stretch out of them while they talked.

“’Til four.” The writer inclined his head back to look at the clock on the nightstand.

“Ugh, really? It’s almost ten, Jay.” He peered up at his enormous darling, who’d come to give him a kiss on his forehead and stroke his hair once. His eyes tracked him changing out of his undershirt for a clean one (he better damn well put that plaid back on) and shrug his crisply folded flannel onto his arms again (good).

“Yeah.” His other pair of jeans looked, and fit, the same. “Plots need digging.”

“Plots need filling, too.”

“Not my plot, not my problem.”

“So you think. It’s gonna _be_ your problem until I can figure out what the fuck I’m doing with this shit-ass sequel. Ugh. Goddammit. I need to get dressed again, gotta run some erran..”

Harry gazed hopelessly up at the man that claimed he’d saved. The backs of James’s fingers ghosted his cheek, his thumb smoothed a wide strip of grey neat to his head, then took to his temple, where he tenderly stroked an arch from his skin, to the sharply dipped, pretty hairline. His eyes drifted shut at the gentle, promising kiss pressed to his brow; and smiled. James spoke such a beautiful, ancient language, and what bliss it was to hear him ramble.

“I love you too, Jay.”

“Yeah.”

He quietly snorted. “Go to work, already. Get outta here, shoo.”

There was a departing kiss - a proper one, a loving one, happy and relaxed, natural and familiar, and they’d forever wonder why - then James went to leave. He gave a glance back at his poor husband, scandalized and content on their bed. Harry winked back at him and instantly drew a blotch of deep red on James’s face, and he quickly turned to skitter away. But the doorway wanted to say goodbye too, and after landing a solid thunk on his forehead, James very quietly whined, protected the possible bump on his forehead, and remembered to duck this time to make his getaway.

Harry snickered. He began to rise from the bed, and only got to propping himself up in his hands when he was startled by James yelling, “I heard that!”from his descent down the stairs.

“You didn’t hear shit!” he yelled back.

“I hear everything, Harry.”

“I love you!”

The heavy footsteps downstairs took a pause. Tilting his head, Harry curiously listened for movement in their open-floor plan home. It was built to echo; sneaking around could be a real feat for only the most professionally skilled. James was one of those rarities. Harry glanced at the door, half-expecting to see him pop back into the room, when his smartphone buzzed on the table.

Grunting, he snatched it up and flopped back to open the device. He opened up his texts with James, accidentally dropped his phone on his face, and only frowned at the screen for the betrayal.

But then, his heart swelled with coveted intensity, and he grinned like the wholly struck-stupid by love man he was at the sight of the simple picture, captured less than a minute ago, of James’s left hand. It wore a gold ring on its fourth finger. Its twin wreathed Harry’s fourth digit, too.

There was no other message it; there was just the picture. Harry didn’t hear James leave. His smile softened and held the phone aloft for as long as his blood flow allowed it. The phone was lain face-down on his chest, covered reverently under his palms, and Harry stared at the ceiling.

Life had a strange way of devising its plots. For ages, Harry’s outline seemed to go according to plan. Then it was upheaved; rewritten; a mess. Three years ago it took another dive, chased around the cutting room floor, scooped up into one big crumpled ball of odds and ends.. then took the twist of the century, all of the set up, all of the poor management, all merging for the big reveal it’d long been waiting for.

It was well played. Harry sighed and looked at the screen again. He hovered his hand in the air, the decorated wall ahead making a nice backdrop for the picture of his hand. The message zoomed for James’s phone with a ‘whoomp!’. There’d be no reply, and he knew that; but he also could only imagine the smile on James’s gorgeous pale face, and that made him smile, too.

Silent Hill had been the worst plot device in the world, and having to traverse that tenth ring of hell to find the one torn from him millions of years ago was not only worth it for their happily ever after, but gave him an immense, indescribable peace knowing that he and James were written with each other in mind.

 _And man,_ Harry smiled, _what a page-turner their story had come to be._


End file.
